It's freezing hot in the other worldand the pink-clay children playand the nights are bright in the other worlda refuge from the darkness of the day

the air is wet in the other worldbut the sea's as dry as stoneand the fish fly just like the lonely birdswho under the sea do roam

but the frowns are light in that wistful placeand the smiles, grim, spark the tearsfor the wisdom is young in the universeand the old are beyond their years

there's a lone lost child in the bluegrass fieldsand he watches the midnight skyit blinds his eyes with a shining light he's so blessed, it makes him cry

he sees the earth distant as the moonand as cold as blushing firehe wonders whether the sky cries thereeach droplet it's own sapphire

he wonders whether the sun is spunof gold, or of moonbeamsbut sleeping is realityand he lives a life of dreams

Hikers

It's chilly in the prickly airmusty forest oxygenfilled with dampnessand soiland leaf scraps which clingto bootsafter the rain they siton the rotting wood of long-fallen treethe moss clings in scraps only now and then touched by the streaming lighthikers from a different worldwith backpack lunchand bars of energy

they decide to drink the sunand leave behind the many layersof silencea trail of broken twigsand the lingering scentof bug spray